


Breakdown

by fandumbandflummery



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Bo-Katan is a beast okay, Death Watch (Star Wars), Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Pegging, abusing mando'a apallingly, and Vizsla loves it, i have so many feelings about these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 11:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandumbandflummery/pseuds/fandumbandflummery
Summary: Tonight is not about rough and bawdy celebration or letting their baser savagery get the better of them. It’s about stripping away the layers of the Ranov'la Mand'alor, the Kyrt'sad al'verde, from the man underneath her until he’s just Pre, a man in desperate need to let go of his control with the one person in the galaxy that he really trusts.





	Breakdown

**Author's Note:**

> Of course my first A03-posted work is going to be a smut. Of course.

Bo-Katan thinks that Zanbar’s moonlight ought to rank among of the wonders of the universe, and it pains her just a little to know that come the morning; it’ll be many, many planetary rotations before she’ll see it again. The triple full moonrise turns everything it touches silver, from the forest and rocks outside, to the hulls of their parked warships, to the pallet serving as the bed where she currently kneels. 

It’s particularly flattering on naked Mand'alors, too.

Pre’s a good-looking man in her eyes on the worst of days, but like this he’s absolutely stunning. Flushed, sweaty, practically gleaming under the moonlight streaming in from the open hatch in the shelter’s roof, he sits propped up on his elbows, sinewy hands and scraped knuckles sharply defined in moonlight and shadow as he clenches them in the pallet’s covers. She kneels between his spread legs while she works him open with the other thoroughly, slowly, pausing whenever she detects its too much for him to take. It astounds her, how bloody sensitive Pre is at his age, how the lightest touches and strokes in the right places can change him from intimidating warlord into the shuddering, panting wreck spread out beneath her.

Almost as good as the view and eager responses of his body are the noises he makes. They’re all quiet, restricted almost entirely to gasps and soft groans, but all the more precious to hear when she leans forward periodically to kiss him. His sharp inhale when she brushes his prostate with the tip of one finger - while keeping the other hand immobile, firmly squeezing the base of his stiff cock - is far sweeter to her ears then all the theatrical moaning of a top-dollar porn holo.

“Bo'ika,” Pre pants against her lips, voice low and rough, “gedet'ye, c'mon, ‘nuff teasing,” he tries to simultaneously thrust up into her hand - or rut against the strap-on cock she’s currently sporting - and rock back against the fingers of the other.

“Its either this or you’re walkin’ funny to the skraan-tent tomorrow,” she replies, pulling her hand back to drip more lube over them out of the little bottle set carefully next to the pallet on the ragged cape serving as a carpet on the hard-packed earth floor, “Although, maybe you oughta feel like you made me that time when you wanted to 'thank’ me for taking out that pirate sniper with your number. Half the Owls were giggling behind my back.”

Pre snorts, mouth quirked in his cruel asymmetrical smile. 

“Jehaar. They’re jealous because their riduur can’t get them half as legless in ten minutes. 'Sides, you like it when I’m rough with you,” he growls at her and lets go of the sheets in order to pull her down for a kiss. Bo lets him for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body against hers - the hot press of his cock against her belly, contrasting the strange artificial coolness of the toy, stoking the ache between her legs - and the bitter tea-herb taste that never seems to leave his mouth. It’s true, she really doesn’t mind his nominally brutal approach to sex. She loves it even, and if she was so inclined this evening, she’d have no qualms about letting Pre roll them over, pin her down, and do his best fuck her through the floor while she did her best to permanently scar his back with her nails.

Right now, however, she is not inclined to let that happen. Tonight is not about rough and bawdy celebration or letting their baser savagery get the better of them. It’s about stripping away the layers of the Ranov'la Mand'alor, the Kyrt'sad al'verde, from the man underneath her until he’s just Pre, a man in desperate need to let go of his control with the one person in the galaxy that he really trusts.

Bo-Katan pulls back from his embrace - semi-reluctantly - and gets back to work. Pre tries to follow her up, but when she adds a third finger and stretches them apart maybe a little harder and farther in than he was expecting, he loses his grip when coordination fails him and his growl of frustration just devolves into another shaky groan. She takes advantage of this and pushes him backwards until he’s flat aback against the pallet, her palm over his chest where she feels his heart absolutely *racing* under overheated skin.

“Patience, cyare”, she soothes, running her hand up to cup his jaw, “don’t get worked up so much.” Not yet, at least, she thinks. That’s my job.

“A'ight, just- just don’t stop anymore,” he huffs, briefly stroking one hand through her hair before returning it to tangle in the thin sheets. 

Bo-Katan nods, and continues her prep work as it goes quiet again. Long minutes pass with nothing but the nighttime sounds drifting in from outside along with Pre’s laboured breathing and occasional gasps and soft moans, and Bo can’t help her mind wandering a bit. She can count the number of times he’s said 'I love you" one one hand - and still have enough fingers left to poke someone’s eyes out in tandem. And yet somehow, Pre’s complete surrender says volumes more about how he feels about her than words ever could. This dangerous, powerful, proud man has put himself completely in her thrall, willingly, trusting that she will not hurt him at his most vulnerable. She revels in that trust, knowing how exclusive it is to her just makes her love him more - if love is even the right word to use for what they share.

However, that doesn’t mean she can’t indulge in a bit of devious fun and take advantage of his current state to drive him even more mad with pleasure. And Bo-Katan knows just how to do that.

“Besides, I can’t rush your prep. You’ve got such a tight little palon, Pre'ika,” she says, leaning back away and casually smacking one pale ass cheek as she does. Pre jumps at the sudden sharp contact, and Bo doesn’t miss his sharp intake of breath and the excited twitch of his cock.

“You’re really raring to go, I know, I know. But you’re gonna have to wait just a little more before you get to have this,” she smirks, and flicks the head of the sleek black thing strapped about her hips, making it bounce a little in its holster. Pre whines wordlessly in the back of his throat, unable to look away.

“You never do it on your own anymore, do you,” she leans forward, speaking low and hotly into his ear, grinning when she feels him shudder at her tone. “Oh yeah, I know you used to try fingering yourself when I was away. But your hands are never enough, never can go as deep or hit that spot so good,” she presses her fingers in especially deep, as if to make a point, but making sure to avoid hitting his prostate, not directly at least. Plenty of time for that later.

“N-nayce,” he replies, shakily; “never as good alone, gedet'ye, Bo…”

“You only want *me* doing this to you, don’t you,” Bo-Katan says, and feels more than she sees Pre nod. So she grabs his chin with her free hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. His own are completely dazed with lust, their normal icy blue almost completely lost in the black of his blown-out pupils.

“Say it out loud,” she fairly commands him in a tone she’d never dare use in the field, “and to my face.”

“Ye-”

“Nu-uh - o'r Concorda Mando'a, cyare,” Bo-Katan sing-songs sweetly, just as she presses all four fingers in *hard* against his prostate.

“Haar'chak, elek! Elek!” Pre practically sobs as he thrashes under her, arches up, trying to get her fingers in deeper, clenching around them.

Bo-Katan pulls her hand away and adjusts her stance, looping her arms under and around his thighs and pushing his legs back and up and up until they’re practically over her shoulders. She makes sure Pre gets a good look at her where she kneels, before lining up the head of the toy with his hole and steadily pressing in. She breaches him easily - diligent prep is its own reward - and both feels and hears his keening moan when she bottoms out. The back end of the strap-on presses close to her clit and her eyes slip shut at the sensation. She hasn’t been touched once this evening, and hadn’t realized how bad the ache had gotten. Bo-Katan almost decides to abandon her post and just leave the toy inside him, and climb on top of her riduur, sinking down on his straining cock and riding him fast and rough till they’re both breathless and exhausted. 

Almost.

Then she opens her eyes again and takes a good look down at Pre, spread out below her. The look on his face is very near rapturous, as he gazes up at her with half-lidded eyes, kiss-swollen mouth slightly open, chest heaving with every breath, hard cock leaving shiny trails of precome against his taut stomach.

“Bid mesh'la, Pre,” she gasps, “bid mesh'la sa ibic,” and she means every word of it. 

Unable to help herself she leans down to kiss him properly, cupping the back of his head and raking her fingers through his close-cropped hair, swallowing his moan as her forward motion drags the head of the toy against the sensitive spot deep inside him. For a while, the whole galaxy shrinks down to just the two of them, nothing but the noise of skin hitting skin and their harsh breathing mixed with an occasional moan or Mando'a phrase of encouragement. Bo-Katan hair is starting to stick to her neck, and her nails are beginning to bite little half-moon marks into Pre’s legs as she grips them. Her hips fairly snap forward into his willing body, going by sound and the arching of Pre’s back towards her to figure out how accurate she’s being, and manages to hit the spot more often than not, more and more as her thrusts get deeper and faster, bit by bit.

It’s when Bo-Katan semi-unintentionally drills his prostate as she grinds against the base of the toy - more urgently seeking her own pleasure now, even as she works to give him his - that Pre finally snaps.

“Bo'ika, draar gev, draar gev, iivin'yc'ner- ahh!” he begs, and something snaps inside Bo-Katan too at the sheer desperation in his voice. She grits her teeth and her eyes slip shut as she dares not slow down or ease up, not now.

Bo-Katan’s legs are starting to burn pleasantly, as if she’s been running for miles, and the toy bumping her clit is building that delicious ache between her legs more and more but she’s not yet *close*, not as much as she’d like to be. So it surprises her when she hears a distinctive counter-rhythm of skin on skin, and realizes that Pre’s touching himself already. Bo-Katan doesn’t slow down her thrusts, but cracks her eyes open to survey the scene. Pre’s head is thrown back, tossing back and forth on the pallet’s flattened pillow, eyes squeezed shut and teeth digging into his lower lip as he pants through his nose. He’s jerking himself off quickly, pre-come that she’d felt leaving damp trails against her stomach fairly streaming from the slit and down the shaft, while his hand moves with some truly obscene wet noises that make her cunt clench at the memory of how good that cock feels inside her.

Frankly, it’s one of the hottest things Bo-Katan’s ever seen. She also knows that when he’s this keyed up, Pre’s more trigger happy than a Trando in a Wookiee creche.

And right now that will not do.

“Ke'mot!,” she snarls, stopping on a hard forward thrust and grabbing his wrist, ignoring his own half-snarl of protest.

“You just keep your hands right where I can see 'em, alor'ad'ika,” she intones, a little more breathless than before, while taking his both hands and planting them on either side of his head on the mattress, “move 'em, and I slap a ring on that kad and you don’t get to come at *all*.”  
It’s a dirty threat, and Pre is momentarily stunned out of his bliss at her change of tone from lovingly teasing to downright harsh. Bo ignores it. If he’d really wanted out he would’ve said 'Kalevala’ ages ago. 

Or just bodily flung her out of the tent and told her to go fuck herself, for a change.

Bo-Katan grits her teeth, digging her nails and resumes her thrusts, just as deep as before but now rougher, faster, her hips snapping against his with renewed vigour. Pre is still close, so close to coming just from her words and the toy, but its just not enough, He does his best to both push back against the toy and rut upwards against her belly where it occasionally brushes his cock, but he can’t find the leverage for either in his position, with his hands obediently stayed palms-up, unable to do anything but clench into fists at the overwhelming sensations that are still just this side of not enough, please, more.The efforts are making him let out the most delicious sounds, desperate wordless whines, half-choked pleas that are no longer Mando'a or Basic.

It’s practically impossible for him to get any further away from his usual cocksure self. So Bo decides that it’s time to be merciful, that Pre has been broken down enough. Still keeping up her brutal pace, lets go of one leg to wrap a hand around his cock, giving it a few sharp tugs before squeezing just the swollen head, thumb pressing into the delicate spot just underneath it.

“Come,” she snarls. 

It is an order, not a request. An order that Pre obeys enthusiastically, back arching as he does, spurting hot and messy between them, his moan dying into a whimper when she keeps pumping his oversensitive cock, only letting go when he begins to soften in her hand.

Bo-Katan gives a few more grinding thrusts, rutting against the end of the strap-on and finally comes herself, the feeling spreading in warm waves outwards from her centre. It’s far from her best or most intense orgasm, but it was never the point. She pulls back enough for the toy to slip out, unbuckling the straps and hanging it up on nearby pole. She’ll still have to clean it later, but for now at least it’s not on the floor.

Pre unfolds his body as she hangs up the strap-on, wincing a bit as he cracks his spine, still shaking a bit from the aftershock, gingerly stretching his legs back out from their folded position. She does her best to clean them both up with a dry rag - they’ll both have to make the trek out to the springs on the hill to get properly clean - before pulling the pallet’s coverlet from underneath them and throwing the dirtied sheets off to the side. It’s warm enough now that they won’t need them.

Bo-Katan gives his legs a quick rubdown - she’s cramping a little from that final push and figures that Pre isn’t doing much better, if not worse. In any case, he’s definitely not complaining as she soothes the ache out of his burning muscles, ensuring he won’t wake up stiff or sore at least. Eventually, Pre manages to get enough control of his over-taxed, overstimulated body back to wrap his arms around Bo’s middle, forcing her to stop and rolling them over onto their sides.

“Vor entye, riduur,” he manages to murmur against her neck, before his breathing evens out, and takes on the trademark rhythms of sleep.

Bo-Katan stays awake for a while longer. Tomorrow they’ll be back to normal, once more al'verde and ver'alor, the left and right hands of the Kyrt'sad, the last hopes of the Mandalorian race to survive extinction. It’ll be months till they come back to Zanbar, and in between all the old fears and grudges will work their way back into their minds, and all they’ll have time for are the hurried, half-armored fucks against starship bulkheads between raids.

But all that’s for tomorrow. Bo-Katan heaves a sigh, as she finally lets the night-time sounds and her riduur’s breathing lull her to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> List of Mando’a words and phrases (ab)used:
> 
> ‘ika - affectionate dimunitive, “little”  
> gedet'ye - please  
> riduur - S.O., spouse  
> jehaar - liar  
> Kyrt’sad - Death Watch, lit. Death Society  
> Ranov'la Mand'alor - Secret Mand’alor, ‘official’ title of Death Watch leader.  
> cyare - beloved, dear  
> palon - hole/opening  
> nayc - no  
> o'r Concorda Mando'a - in Concordian Mandalorian  
> Haar'chak, elek! Elek! - Yes dammit, yes!  
> Bid mesh'la, bid mesh'la sa ibic - So beautiful, so beautiful like this   
> draar gev, draar gev, iivin'yc'ner - Don’t stop, don’t stop, faster  
> Ke'mot! - Halt!  
> alor'ad'ika - my little captain  
> kad - penis, lit. sword  
> Vor entye - thank you, lit. in your debt  
> al'verde - commander, overlord  
> ver'alor - lieutenant


End file.
